


Moving Trains

by notanotherotherone



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Oblivious Betty Cooper, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, strangers to enemies to friends to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-21 01:18:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12446272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notanotherotherone/pseuds/notanotherotherone
Summary: He thought the universe had been cruel enough. Growing up poor, bullied through high school, heroic dad turned alcoholic shitbag. The universe decided it hadn't been cruel enough and Jughead accepts defeat effectively leading him to seek respite on a train where he meets someone who teaches him to look at the world a little differently.





	Moving Trains

_Sorry._

 

5 letters. Two syllables. One word.

 

The first time he remembered it spoken to him was when a classmate bumped into him in elementary school. He’d never met the girl before, but he saw the apology in her eyes and he’d accepted it with a smile before scurrying to the cafeteria. As the years went by, he’d find more than a few people would bump into him, rougher, harder and he’d discover the word was only used when people regretted what they did.

 

Or when something was out of their hands as he’d learnt when his favourite Chock Lit Shoppe owner told him they were out of onion rings that one day back in eighth grade after he’d promised Jellybean he’d get her some on his way back from school. Afterwards, he’d said the word to her himself and was met with her understanding smile and an ‘It’s okay, Jug.’

 

Eventually, after having heard it many times over, coupled with excuses that had a bore a hole in his brain, he’d find that sometimes ‘sorry’ didn’t mean a thing. A poor man’s get out of jail free card.

 

When he looked into his father’s eyes, tears staining the older man’s face as he begged the rest of the family to forgive him, he didn’t know it then. Promises of change spilling from his tongue, remorse and regret colouring his eyes, he was still naïve. Believing the word ‘sorry’ had inconceivable power, he squeezed his mother’s hand as she nodded in forgiveness.

 

However, the scene continued to replay as Jughead grew up. The same repentant look on his father’s face, the same calculated absence of Jellybean who didn’t need to see her alcohol-ridden father in his pitiful state, the same ‘sorry’. The only difference was the loss of hope both mother and son felt each time they watched the once great FP Jones succumb to his dark demons despite their overarching support.

 

Jughead started working at the drive in and his mother began waitressing at Pops to ease FP off the pressure of having to provide for the Jones. But it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. The absence of people in the house made matters worse. With more money spare and easy access to the knowledge of who would be home and when, the six packs followed FP home. And the more he got away with it, the more reckless he became until one day, Gladys came home to find a shivering Jellybean sat on the stairs leading up the trailer.

 

She knew what she was going to see before she peered into the trailer window that Jellybean was still too short to see through. For as the hope slowly dimmed each time she saw her husband in his alcoholic haze, another stronger, more disturbing emotion took its place. Distrust. It chipped away at her and whispered haunting words she’d push down out of love for the father of her children. It laughed at her as she ushered a confused Jellybean into the passenger seat of her car and hurriedly packed her and her daughter’s life into suitcases and boxes. They didn’t have much, so it didn’t take long.

 

With a kiss on the forehead to her sleeping husband, who was cradling a bottle of Budweiser close to his heart, and a scribbled letter to her oldest child, Gladys and Jellybean bade farewell to Riverdale.

 

A couple of hours later, Jughead would finish his shift at the drive-in and return to his home where FP continued to reside on the worn-out couch surrounded by bottles and cans. He was contemplating how to explain to his mother that the drive-in would be closing before the smell of alcohol hit him and he took in the sight of his dishevelled father. A few moments later, he’d walk past an envelope with his name on it and knock on his parent’s door to check his mum and JB were okay only to be met with an unnerving silence.

 

Only then would he realise how empty the house was.

 

Where were JB’s pumps he’d bought her last Christmas?  His mother’s coat and Jellybean’s parka? He’d push open the bedroom door and find his eyes drawn to the open closet door, the half with his mother’s clothes now strewn with hangers.

 

Wiping his palm over his face, he’d return to the kitchen where the letter his mother left him lay and he’d read it, a numbness that had been stirring awhile, overwhelming him.

_I’m sorry Jughead. I’m so sorry. I can’t do this anymore. I refuse to let his false promises and lies win me over again and Jelly deserves better than this. I’m taking her and we’re getting out of this hellhole. You’re 18, you don’t have to put up with it anymore either. Leave it. Leave him. Leave it all._

_You’re worth so much more._

_I’m sorry and I love you._

 

He read it over again, not yet processing the words, not believing they were real. They didn’t change the second time, nor the third.

 

He began laughing at the amount of times she’d apologized. Obviously, she didn’t regret it. She’d made that much clear enough. Nor was it out of her hands. She only needed to drive to his workplace and explain herself. He’d have gone with her and his sister. He was certain. He would have done anything for them.

 

No. Her apology fell in the last category. The one that didn’t mean a thing.

 

He crumpled the letter and stuffed it into his pocket as he walked out of the trailer in a daze. He didn’t take anything. He didn’t need anything where he was going. His body was on autopilot as he walked to the train station. It started to drizzle, but Jughead remained unaffected. His muddy sneakers stepped over the Janitor’s mop as he made his way to the platform, bypassing the ticket machine and its queue as he walked on to the train.

 

Now, he sat in his cubicle, pondering over how futile it had all been. In the end, it had all been for nothing. Sure, he was 18 now, but he had to grow up a long time ago, for the sake of his father, his mother and his sister. In the end, did anyone really care about him?

 

“Hey!”

 

A voice cut through his thoughts and he blinked before realizing it belonged to a blonde girl, whose bright green eyes were glaring at him as she waved a ticket in front of his face. She was babbling on about something, but his mind was playing host to a whole other set of events to figure it out. He soon deduced that he must have been sat in her seat and quickly moved to the opposite side, acquiescing her instantly as she sat down with a bright smile on her face.

 

She started talking again, her ponytail bouncing along with her enthusiasm. Jughead stared at her blankly, almost oblivious to what she was saying.

 

It was a little more than difficult to ignore someone like her. She could carry on a conversation all by herself – and she was. Happily.

 

When was the last time he’d been as happy as this girl? He could hardly remember. It didn’t matter now. It was all going to be over soon, he thought to himself as he stared out of the window.

 

The blonde chattered on about her childhood friend, soon to be boyfriend and love of her life and he wondered if she knew the universe wasn’t as kind as she thought it was.

 

He looked up and saw the stars twinkling in the distance. He’d never seen so many before and here he was seeing them for the first time with a perfect stranger. As the train picked up speed, his thoughts drifted to his dad. This whole situation was probably a blessing to him. Now nothing stood between him and his poison of choice save for the countdown timer on his kidneys.

 

A cold breeze suddenly swept past him and he saw his feet had walked him to the open train doors. He smiled once more, as he looked into the night sky littered with stars glinting brighter than before. Could his mum and Jellybean see this many stars wherever they were? Another bright light caught his eye and he turned to see it fast approaching, the glare almost blinding him as it got nearer. He edged forward to get a closer look when a hand came out and grabbed him.

 

“Are you crazy?”

 

He spun around only to be met once again with the fierce glower of the blonde from before. Whatever she was shouting at him, was drowned out by the engine of the train that almost killed him.

 

No.

 

He almost killed himself. This was on him. God. What was he thinking? He hadn’t given any thought to how this could have affected his sister. Doing this made him just as selfish as his parents. He couldn’t do that to her.

 

The blonde continued to mutter away at him as he stared at her, relieved that she’d stopped him. Unconsciously, his hand moved to where she’d grabbed him, the warmth he found there quieting his suicidal thoughts.

 

“Ticket please?” The ticket inspector appeared before the blonde cutting her off midsentence.

 

“My ticket’s in my bag on my seat,” she explained.

 

He nodded and saddled up to Jughead and asked the same question, “Ticket please?”

 

Jughead blinked back at him, still rattled about what he’d been about to do.

 

“Your ticket, sir? And move away from the doors, it’s dangerous” The inspector steered Jughead away as he moved to close the doors, effectively placing him in front of the blonde.

 

“He’s asking you for your ticket,” she said for him slowly. She made a little rectangle shape with her fingers and repeated, “Your ticket,” raising her eyebrows for added effect.

 

“I,” he rasped, remembering he hadn’t spoken to anyone since he left the drive in. Clearing his throat, he tried again, finally stringing together the first sentence he’d ever say to the girl in front of him.

 

“I don’t have a ticket.”


End file.
